


How Sam Winchester could have been Dean Forester

by serendipityxxi



Category: Gilmore Girls, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipityxxi/pseuds/serendipityxxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Mary didn't take the deal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Sam Winchester could have been Dean Forester

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Disclaimed

“Mary? It’s a good deal. What do you say?” The thing wearing her father’s face smirked at her and Mary could not contain the venom that rose up in her.

“Go to hell!” Mary Campbell spat, her lover’s head cradled in her lap. John looked like he was asleep, but she’d heard the crunching of his bones, there was no pulse at the neck her fingers pressed into. John had been a good man and the yellow eyed demon had snapped his neck the same way he’d probably snapped her mother’s, the same way he’d killed her father: with no thought, no remorse. No she could not take his deal, could not bargain with anything this evil.

“Mary!” She heard Dean’s shout from over her shoulder. She turned and one second there was Dean and then the next there wasn’t, but the gun he’d been carrying remained in the grass.

Mary and the yellow eyed demon, Azazel, both spotted the gun at the same instant and by some miracle Mary managed to reach it first. She rolled over and scrambled to her knees prepared to shoot the bastard and get vengeance for the people she’d loved but he was gone, black smoke pouring out of her father’s mouth in a torrent, then he too collapsed to the ground at Mary’s feet.

Mary Campbell stood where she was, frozen for a good long moment, the enormity of everything threatening to overwhelm her. Her mother was dead. Her father was dead. John was dead. They were all gone. What was she going to do? Something inside her snapped as she stood there watching her father’s blood soaking into the grass. The training she’d rebelled against for so many years kicked in and suddenly she was turning John over, fishing the keys from his pocket and driving off into the night. The cops would be coming soon, she couldn’t answer their questions and she couldn’t afford to be thrown in jail, she had a mission.

It took Mary almost seven years to track Azazel down. He was wearing a used car salesman when Mary finally put a bullet between those yellow eyes of his using the colt. The look of surprise on his face almost made the last few years worth it. Afterward she drove the three hundred or so miles to the nearest big demon hunter meeting place, a dive called Harvelle’s Road House. There she passed the colt off to a hunter she met named Bobby Singer and ordered herself a celebratory beer. That one turned into three and then five and finally found Mary blubbering into her eighth. The bartender, a whiskey voiced woman with a no-nonsense attitude who reminded Mary of her mother plucked the beer out of her hands at closing time and bustled her off to one of the back rooms behind the bar they kept for hunters who were in no shape to drive like Mary was.

Mary left The Roadhouse the next morning and never looked back on that life.

 

She went to Chicago and waited tables determined to make a fresh start in life. Her car breaking down one snowy winter morning brought her right to Forrester and Sons mechanic shop and that was where she met Tom. Tom rolled himself out from under the car he’d been working on when she walked into the shop and promptly smacked his forehead into the undercarriage trying to get a good look. He’d joke later on that she’d rattled his brains from the start, and she did. She rattled his brains right into marrying her. She always had a thing for men with engine grease under their nails she mused at their wedding ceremony when they joined hands as directed by the priest and she caught sight of the black line under his nails that just wouldn’t come out.

Tom Forester was a good man, with a solid head on his shoulders and without a superstitious bone in his body. Mary gave birth to their first child on May 2nd 1983, a little boy she couldn’t resist naming Dean, remembering the young man who’d claimed to be hers from the future. Early in her pregnancy Mary had pulled out the old books and painstakingly sketched out a devil’s trap in the nursery, then covered it with a throw rug before placing the crib right over that spot. On the windows in salt water she sketched protective runes and on little Dean’s six month birthday, the ten year anniversary of John Winchester and Deanna and Samuel Campbell’s death not only were they not at home, but the hotel room they stayed in was warded with so many different religion’s symbols and hex bags and protection spells that it was a wonder Tom didn’t think she’d lost her mind. It was the one time she wasn’t subtle about her protections, and Tom let it go after a time. Mary continued to embroider protective runes into her boys’ underthings though, pretending they were just fanciful versions of their initials.

As Dean grew Mary anxiously watched his face for the man who had come to her in 1973 but this boy was obviously his own person, his face was rounder, hair much darker and he had the sweetest disposition of any toddler Mary had ever met. He kept that even temperament as he grew, he got A’s in sharing in Kindergarten, was always nice to the opposing team in peewee baseball and then little league and loved his sister when she was born eight years later. Tom named her Clara after the girl in the Nutcracker, and she was as much a princess as Mary could make her. She reveled in her little girl but took special pride in her son who looked nothing like the boy she thought he might have grown into. Years later they moved to Stars Hollow which was the quaintest little small town, where everyone knew everyone else’s business, and Mary felt certain they’d be safe there.

It was in Stars Hollow Dean met his first love, a quiet bookish girl and Mary watched with only a usual mother's trepidation as he came home awash in the glow and then comforted him when the first flush faded. She couldn’t help sending up prayers of thanks that her son could grow up and have his first love end in such a normal way without the bloodshed and death Mary herself had experienced.

Watching him walk across the stage at Stars Hollow High in his cap and gown was one of the proudest moments in her life. Tom sat beside her and squeezed her shoulders as their boy graduated. He had plans to go on to community college. He wanted to build a real life. He’d never have to deal with saving people or hunting things. Whatever else life might throw at him, Mary knew she had done right by him in this instance.

She leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder and held their daughter, watching Dean accept his diploma, so different from the man he could have become. Mary breathed a sigh of contentment; she’d given this boy what she could not have given the other, a normal childhood and a real chance at a normal life.


End file.
